Vera, huh?
by Modwolf
Summary: Jack and John are trapped in a time loop they can't escape. They're also quite into sex, I've heard. So what is there to do but envoke a long-term relationship built on sex and frustration and their at-the-time rather intensely vicious personalities? R&R.


The rough noise of rough kisses, of breaths roughly intermingling along with tongues and teeth and soon to be such _very _bruised lips, ripping through the air as the two men stumbled into the room, too absorbed by each other and themselves to close doors or watch where they were going as they stepped carelessly across wooden floorboards barely visible under all kinds of junk – everything from mere clothes to the most random of alien artifacts; or _souvenirs _as the couple that inhabited this fair piece of land at the time liked to call it – another rough noise suddenly shot through their mouths, as the taller of the two men was pushed across the room by the shorter one, the latter removing jacket, boots, shirt as he walked swiftly towards the centre of the moderately sized room: the large, Victorian bed with sheets that had not been made since they had first arrived there multiple weeks previously. _Of course. _His stare more than nailed to the other man's face, body, _mouth, _the man who years later was to take the name of Captain John Hart unbuckled his belt in one hurried motion before once again colliding with the man he had by now shared a bed with for about three and a half years, hands sliding up necks and drawing back down again with short yet inhumanly sharp claws into thin, desirous flesh, sudden inhales and moaning exhales fusing together, melding the snog of a lifetime or two – the man who was later to be known as Captain Jack Harkness grabbing hold of the other man's hair, fiercely biting his already pouty lower lip before throwing him onto the mattress before them, the other man groaning in a state beyond pain, so far beyond pain by now.

"Ah, fuck, those scars you made last night haven't healed yet," he exclaimed, stretching his bare back upon those ruffled sheets, grabbing and twisting them in his hands as he looked back up at the future Captain Jack, one eyebrow raised. "Not that I'm complaining."

Smirking with distinct satisfaction rumbling through his insides like a hail of sharp rocks, Jack let the coat drop off of his now bare back and onto the unclean floor before dropping himself onto the warm surface of Captain John on the bed, one knee on each side of the other man's waist, digging teeth, lips, tongue into his warm, quickly pulsating neck almost immediately as his belt was even sooner mercilessly grabbed, the lower half of his body pulled down even further onto the other man's, groins rubbing together through much too harsh fabrics for their own genitalia's good – not that their owners were complaining. The moan-ridden chafing of rough-materialized clothes across supposedly sensitive areas did however seize rather abruptly, as flies were unzipped and bodies rolled on top of each other, John now ending up on top of Jack, pulling the remaining unwanted items of clothing off of the pair of them quite successfully as he had now managed to tear the other man's mouth from his currently, like so many times before, aching throat, now looking down upon his body, his bare, hot, naked body burning through the sheets, back arching as John's hands quickly caught Jack's both wrists, bending them _down, _forcing them to hit the mattress and stay there, as his strength was focused onto those very points of his body, those very grips that were struggled uselessly against – John let out a laugh of pure malice to Jack's weak, weak performance in the art of competing for the top, Jack merely responding in biting John's lips _hard _as their heads leaned in violently close to share a kiss or two.

As lovers do.

John's one hand to Jack's two wrists, bringing them together and reaching for the – actually amazingly handy in this merry relationship – piece of ragged, once quite beautiful rope hanging from one of the oh so very gay Victorian curtains hung up in each corner to let the sunlight in; not that that's what they ever used it for. Tying the rope around Jack's still but not really devotedly fighting off wrists, John found concentrating on remembering Cub Scout knots quite the entertaining little challenge of the hour, as he quickly discovered just where Jack happened to be focusing most of his devotion at the time; his thigh rubbing warmly to the hardness of John's cock, Jack's legs pressing together around it as John's body could simply not resist heaving slightly up and down, their breaths beyond heavy and already lost to pre-panting mode as they laid there, nearly laughing in each other's faces as their eyes locked together, having barely left each other during this entire time that they had actually managed to be in the same room without having fucked each other completely mental yet.

Jack's wrists now tied to the upper left bedpost, John tore Jack's legs from one another, more than skillfully managing to place a luckily enough located condom upon himself and to _make _Jack lift his legs into the hot, heavy, filthy air that filled their so very democratically shared room all at once, by keeping one hand on his own cock and the other around Jack's. Oh, how the tiniest bit of pressure in the right spot could cause _just _the right amount of pain for someone to think it absolutely best to do exactly what the pressure maker wanted you to do – and oh, how the pair of them had misused what they had once learned as a torture chamber secret only.

Easing himself into position, John felt Jack's legs instantly wrap him like two very strong, short and determined to eventually be the death of him snakes; keeping him in place in between them, making sure that he could not leave until Jack said it was over. In a mighty comforting and truly honest attempt to dissolve this slight feeling of supposedly unwanted submission from his own part, John reached to the nightstand, picking up a mid-sized blade. As he pressed into Jack, tasting oblivion, high, ecstasy, he also pressed the knife to the side of Jack's stomach, the coolness of the flat blade to his fiery flesh and John thrusting inside of him enough of a mingled combination of great sensations to make him let out a minor howl, soon followed by a major whimper, as the knife changed positions in John's free hand – the other (barely) supporting him by desperately clasping the headboard of the surely-intended-for-this Victorian bed as he fucked Jack into the next solar system – to the back edge being put to Jack's skin, drawing upwards along his rib cage, still coolly, sharply, so very excitingly as Jack inhaled beyond sharply, perfectly frightened of exhaling in case the knife might just flip; and so he did in a staggering moan, John's hard breaths pounding into his eyelids, cheekbone, face as he watched his lover squirm under that knife, now travelled up to chest and collarbone, stroking the very, tiny edge just underneath it, then pressing right to his throat as John's whole, sheer body started to tremble beyond the quick, hard spastic movements it was already deeply, deeply committed to as he felt himself on the verge of coming inside of Jack, watching his _face, _his tightly draw together eyelids, John half-growling, half-shouting _"Look at me!" _and finding himself completely tranquilized as if in trance when Jack finally did, staring right back into his eyes, John clutching Jack's jaw as he thrust hard and slow a few last times, now _his _eyes closed, tightly shut, even, head bent down, head swung back, body pressed to Jack's by legs clamped harder around him than the usual nipple wear Jack had a massive thing for making him wear every now and then, _forcing _him to stay inside of Jack post-orgasm, John trembling and blinking down at him, panting into his mouth, sweat running from temple to chin, as Jack snatched forwards, inhaling John's upper lip, sucking hard, kissing wetly, _keeping _there for a brief, hot second or so before commanding the man that held him captured and shackled by rope – _"Suck – my – cock". _And, as expected by the future Captain Jack, John could not resist the temptation of pleasing him. _After_ he himself was taken care of.

Releasing John from practically cramping legs, it did not take moments before Jack instantly felt closer than he had ever been without actually coming just yet; John's hot, wet mouth sliding _down _his achingly hard cock, deep-throating – you could accuse this man of many things, but to say that he was not devoted to his playthings would simply not be true – and squeezing with one warm, most welcome hand around Jack's flaming hot flesh, adrenalin rippling through Jack's veins as he spasmodically thrust into John's mouth, coming hard and shakingly, his body arched and his voice filling the room with a cry of climaxing bliss; making it seem so much quieter than it was when it was finally over mere seconds after it begun.

Nothing but their hard, heavy breaths stirring in the air, John exhaustedly untied Jack's wrists before collapsing next to him upon the thankfully comfortable mattress, both their chests heaving and neither of them touching the other for minutes of lying on that bed, not speaking, not eyeing one another, but doing nothing but letting those orgasms and that moment slowly ache into their memories.


End file.
